


We're Enemies, Lovers, not Friends

by KeepingTheStarsApart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Enemies to Lovers, Glitter, M/M, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Prank Wars, because I've never pranked anyone in my life, but not really, copious amounts of, idiotic pranks, mostly enemies, that's awesome, there's a tag for glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:12:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepingTheStarsApart/pseuds/KeepingTheStarsApart
Summary: Just as planned since kindergarten, Stiles and Scott shared a dorm room and life was as fine and dandy as life at university can possibly be.But things happen, wardrobes get set on fire, and now Stiles has to share his room with one Derek Hale.And no matter what Erica says, Derek’s impressive abs - or his ocean-colored eyes, or his adorable bunny teeth - do nothing to stop Stiles from hating his guts.Nothing.---An Enemies-to-Lovers via Prank War fic, because I needed a reason to cover Derek in glitter. Obviously.





	We're Enemies, Lovers, not Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I'm supposed to study.
> 
>  
> 
> Title taken from Jack Savoretti's Fight 'Til The End.

“I hate him.”

“What else is new?”

“He’s an arrogant prick.”

“Yeah, so we’ve heard. Multiple times.”

“He’s driving me up the wall!”

“Stiles, honey,” Erica despairs, dropping her pen. She walks over, effectively stopping Stiles’ aggravated pace through the tiny dorm room, and cups his face with both hands. It might seem like a comforting gesture, but Stiles can feel her long, sharp fingernails digging into his temples, and sees right through it. “You know I love you, but you’re driving _me_ up the wall with your endless “Derek this, Derek that”, and I _really_ need to finish this essay.” 

“And you came _here_ to do that?”

Stiles pull an incredulous face and pointedly looks over to where Scott and Isaac are sprawled across a worn-out beanbag, playing Mario Cart on full volume and yelling abuse at each other.

“I am only here because Lydia and her fellow nerds are polluting our room with too many mathematical theorems for me to bear, and that,” she nods at Scott, who is now throwing leftover popcorn at Isaac, “is pleasant background noise I got used to a year ago. But you whining on and on about your stupid feud with Hale is keeping me from _very important_ political theory, got it?”

“Aha! See, that is exactly my point! You left by choice! Derek kicked me out of our room because he wants to _study in peace_.” Stiles mocks, making air quotes while Erica facepalms with a heartfelt groan. “As if I was such a huge distraction, making it impossible to string together one coherent sentence-"

“You know,” Erica says loudly, talking right over him, “Just now, I’m inclined to agree with Derek. Scott, take over before I murder your best friend.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Scott says at once, pausing the game and jumping up, consequently pushing Isaac off his side of the beanbag.

“Hey! I was about to win!”

“You wish,” Scott says over his shoulder, coming to stand next to Erica, who in turn goes back to her work. “Stiles,” he says gently, “I think you should give Derek another chance. Try to get to know him a little better, it’s only been three weeks-“

“Three weeks of constant fighting and near-death experiences!” Stiles laments, “Do you know he literally yanked me out of bed and onto the floor yesterday??”

“That was because you lay on his laptop and refused to give it back,” Isaac comments boredly.

“And how do _you_ know that?”

“Boyd told him,” Erica explains absent-mindedly, scribbling wildly onto a piece of paper.

“Boyd? Tall, dark and handsome Boyd with the unfair muscles?”

“That’s the one,” Erica quips, blushing a little for reasons unbeknownst to Stiles.

“We shared that English 101 class with him last year,” Isaac explains, “He’s, like, the only real friend Derek’s got around here, I think.”

“I know,” Stiles grumps, crossing his arms, “But that is so not the point of this discussion-“

“You’re right,” Scott pipes up again, “The point is that the feud you and Derek have going on is ridiculous and-“

“No, the point is that I’m stuck with Mister Talk To Me And You’ll Regret It, while you get to share with Isaac,” Stiles grouses, pointing an accusatory finger at said boy.

Isaac looks up in innocence. “Dude, it’s not my fault they had to split the two of you up this semester.”

“I still think that’s really unfair,” Scott says, looking troubled.

Erica snorts into her books. “You did set a wardrobe on fire, Scotty. I always wondered why they let you guys share for so long anyways, with all the shit you got up to in that room of yours.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Stiles snaps at her, and Erica flips him off without bothering to lift her head.

“Well, my roommate left for Europe, as you know, and I think Derek’s had lots of trouble with his previous one, so I guess it made sense for administration to pair us up instead,” Isaac explains, trying to reach Scott’s abandoned controller across the beanbag while being too lazy to actually get up and get it.

“No it doesn’t,” Stiles scoffs, “Why couldn’t they make Derek share with that Boyd guy, if they get on so well?!”

“Boyd is sharing with that douchebag Jackson,” Erica says, evidently giving up on her essay and turning her back on her books. “The one Lydia has this on-off thing with. I think they get on well enough, though, and anyways, the more roommates you separate, the more chaotic it gets.”

Stiles pouts. “I don’t care about chaos. Chaos is my friend, but Derek is not. I hate Derek.”

“Oh, we know,” Isaac sighs impatiently. “Stupid Derek Hale, with his stupid eyebrows and his stupid six-pack and his stupid ocean-green eyes and his stupid adorable bunny-teeth, yeah, yeah, heard it all before.”

“What?” Stile splutters, voice going a little higher than normal, “I never said that! I _never_ said that, why would I say that?!”

“Oh, you did say that,” Erica laughs, “that and a lot more, actually, when you got so incredibly smashed at Danny’s party last week, remember? Oh well, you probably don’t.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles says blankly, “Please tell me you made that up. I don’t remember ever even _thinking_ about Derek’s teeth, why would I-“

“Because you want to get in his pants,” Erica supplies with a grin, grabbing a handful of popcorn. 

Stiles doesn’t grace that ludicrous statement with an answer. Erica is enjoying this way too much, he decides grumpily, turning his back on her. He’s now faced with Scott’s puppy dog eyes.

“If you just _tried_ to be nice to Derek, maybe-

“Dude. No. ”

“Why not?”

“ _Why not?_ Scott, seriously, a few days ago I went to the vending machine and asked him if he wanted anything. Do you know what he did? He told me to shut up! So I tried, alright, I really did, but this is not on me, it’s entirely on him. He’s a douchebag, and no matter what you say, we’re not magically going to stop hating each other’s guts, okay?”

His friends blink at him.

“Well,” Erica says eventually, “I still think you just wanna hook up with him.”

Stiles grabs the abandoned, half-empty bag of popcorn up off the floor and turns it upside down over her head.

 

~

 

“There’s something on your face,” Derek informs him slowly, a little later when Stiles makes his way back into their shared dorm room. He’s stretched out on his bed, looking at Stiles over the top of a heavy looking book.

“Oh, you don’t say,” Stiles snarls, ripping open his wardrobe to look into the mirror on the inside of the door. 

His face is covered in messy streaks of pink lipstick, creating an appealing pattern that makes him look like an absolute idiot. There’s also a heart on his left cheek, and in spite of himself Stiles has to admire Erica’s talent to draw on the face of a guy who is struggling with all his might.

“What happened?” Derek asks vaguely, sounding like he doesn’t care one bit.

“Erica happened. Apparently she doesn’t like popcorn in her hair.”

Derek gives a derisive snort. His shirt is riding up a little on his stomach, revealing a small strip of skin and Stiles very decidedly does not stare at it. Instead, he finds a tissue in his desk and begins rubbing at his face vigorously. The tissue comes back pink, but Stiles strongly suspects that there’s still a lot of lipstick stubbornly stuck on his skin.  
Derek’s repeated snorting makes him think he’s probably right.

“You’re just making it worse,” Derek sighs, abandoning his book and getting up. 

Stiles concentrates very hard on not flinching back when Derek approaches him and hold out his hand for the tissue. 

“Let me.”

He takes hold of Stiles’ chin, angling his face up to him and grins broadly at the mess on it.

 _I made him smile_ , Stiles thinks dumbly and stops listening for a second. Well. Maybe, just _maybe_ , Erica was not entirely wrong. With a tiny bout of panic, Stiles decides he’d rather not deal with the implication of that right now. Or ever.

“- even got it on your eyelids,” Derek is saying , “Close your eyes, will you?”

The last thing Stiles sees before obeying is Derek wetting the tissue with the tip of his tongue. He’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

Nothing happens for a few moments, then he hears the sound of a camera shutter going off. Stomach sinking, Stiles blinks his eyes open to see a phone right in front of his face. Derek is full on laughing now.

“You really are very photogenic,” he says gleefully, “This will be the first time that Instagram my sister made me get is going to come in handy.”

Stiles is so frozen in place, he doesn’t even think to snatch Derek’s phone from him, in order to try and delete that doubtlessly humiliating picture. By the time he finds his voice, Derek is already back on his bed, smirking slightly into his stupid book.

“You wouldn’t,” Stiles says blankly.

“Ah, who knows,” Derek muses, “Maybe I’ll post it, maybe not. I might just keep it, you know. As potential future blackmail material.”

Fury is now starting to boil in the pit of Stiles’ stomach, and he’s kind of glad for it. Bickering, teasing, fighting and pranks, that he can deal with.

“Oh, it’s so on, mate,” he says gravely. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I don’t think I will,” Derek answers just as somberly, but Stiles is already storming back out the door. First things first, he’s got to get rid of the stupid lipstick.

 

~

 

“Look, I know Erica is, like, your best friend,” Stiles says, eyes squeezed shut as Lydia dabs at his face with some make-up remover thingy, “but she’s a menace.” 

Lydia pinches his forehead for it. “If you’d gotten greasy, crumbly popcorn into _my_ hair, lipstick would have been the least of your worries... Alright, it’s gone.”

“Thank you,” Stiles groans with relief, slumping back against the mass of pillows on Lydia’s bed.

“Uh-huh. Just be glad Erica’s not back yet. I don’t think I could’ve done much for you with her around.”

“Yeah, she’d probably love to see me with a pink face for all eternity.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. She’ll be over it by dinner.”

“Then again,” Stiles thinks out loud, disregarding Lydia’s comment, “she might be able to do just that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Derek took a photo of me.”

Lydia giggles. “How’d he manage that? I wouldn’t have thought you’d give him a chance to.”

“I let my guard down,” Stiles mumbles, angry with himself, “he was uncharacteristically nice, which should have made his intentions obvious, now that I think of it, but-“

“But you’re so very in love with him, a little attention got you all swooning,” Lydia singsongs.

Stiles groans deeply. “God, not you, too. Lydia, you’re the most intelligent, most rational person I know. Please tell me you didn’t let the others talk you into this.”

“People have yet to succeed in talking me into anything,” Lydia says haughtily, “And sweet talk won’t make me lie to you.”

“You’ve all gone mad,” Stiles says, impressed, “All of you. Lyds, Derek is literally the bane of my existence, why is that so hard to understand?”

“Oh, it’s not. But you see, Jackson is basically the bane of _my_ existence, but I still rather enjoy snogging him senseless,” she counters without batting an eyelash, “It’s how they say, isn’t it? Teasing is a sign of affection.”

At that point, Lydia has the audacity to wink at him, and Stiles gives up on her. 

He needs new friends.

 

+++

 

Two days later, Stiles is perfectly at peace with the world. He’s in the dining hall with Erica and Lydia for their daily lunch date, already well into his dessert while Scott and Isaac have yet to show up. The girls have launched a discussion about Jackson’s latest escapades ages ago, which Stiles has been contently listening in on while devouring a bowl of fruit salad. He doesn’t really notice the chatter die off until Erica threateningly points her spoon at him across the table.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demands, “You haven’t complained about Derek once in the entire time we’ve been here.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, albeit a little smugly, and Erica’s eyes narrow.

“What did you do to him?”

“What did Stiles do to who?” Scott cuts in all of a sudden, pulling out a chair and looking ruffled. 

Isaac, his hair a mess, follows suit. About time.

“You’re late,” Lydia comments primly, gaze lingering on the boy’s grumpy expressions. “What happened to you?”

“We got into a fight,” Scott grumbles, effectively diverting Erica’s attention from staring Stiles down.

“What? With who?”

“Each other,” Isaac says through gritted teeth, and throws Scott a truly murderous look over his plate of lasagna. 

Erica pouts. “Aww, what happened to the puppy love, guys? This is not like you at all.”

“She’s right,” Lydia agrees, sounding truly concerned, “What would you even be fighting about?”

Scott takes an unnecessarily big bite out of his sandwich and says nothing. Isaac doesn’t even take his eyes of his food.

“Guys, come on,” Erica wheedles, while Stiles is just watching the conversation apprehensively. 

Lydia raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “You realize you don’t stand a chance against Erica and me, right? We’ll get it out of you anyways, you might as well just spit it out and save us the trouble.”

“Very well said,” Erica says, now pointing her spoon at Isaac, who frowns at his lasagna.

“Scott cheated at video games.”

“No I didn’t,” Scott retorts immediately, “You’re just a sore loser.”

“Wait a moment,” Stiles finally chimes in, “You’re seriously having a fight over _video games_? No, alright, Erica, you can direct your Spoon of Doom back at me, what I did to Derek is way better than their childish bickering.”

“So you did do something to him!” Erica exclaims, a little too enthusiastically maybe, while Lydia still shakes her head at Scott and Isaac, who’re basically growling at each other. 

It’s all quite entertaining (and only slightly pathetic), and Stiles is looking forward to adding his own pile of fun to the mix, but of course right then Derek has to barge into the dining hall like a rabid wolf and ruin it.

“Aha,” Stiles says with a grimace, and Erica starts positively quivering in anticipation. 

That girl is way too invested in any interaction between him and Derek, and Stiles will have to get into that once he is not being charged at by a guy with twice his amount of muscles. And only one shoe.

“I will end you,” is what Derek starts out with, very melodramatically, towering over their table in such an intimidating manner, Scott and Isaac even forget to squabble.

“Hello, Derek, darling,” Stiles quips obnoxiously, encouraged only be the fact that Derek probably won’t brutally murder him with so many eye-witnesses around. “Are you trying to set a new trend?” 

He nods at Derek’s feet. The right one is sporting the usual black sneaker, but the left one is very much shoe- and sockless, toes curling against the cold linoleum floor.  
Derek inhales deeply through his nose, apparently trying very hard to stay calm.

“Where. _Are_. They.”

“Oh, huh, hmm,” Stiles goes, pretending to think, “Well, I can’t say I remember exactly, but I _believe_ I might have hidden them all over campus last night. ‘T was already pretty dark, so I can’t really give you any exact locations, sorry, dude.”

With a shrug, Stiles impales a grape with his fork and innocently pops it into his mouth. Derek is practically trembling with suppressed anger.

“I will _end_ you, Stilinski,” he repeats menacingly, turns on the spot and stomps out of the room. 

The wary eyes of dozens of students follow him.

Erica turns in her seat and looks at Stiles with wide eyes. “You stole… his shoes?” she questions in silent admiration. 

Stiles basks in it for a moment, before going back to his food with a nonchalant smile. 

“Only all the left ones. And all the left socks, too.”

Erica’s cackles resound through the dining hall for the entire rest of lunch.

 

~

 

Contrary to popular belief, Stiles does have a shred of sense of self-preservation, and therefore avoids his dorm room, and consequently, Derek, as long as possible. Dinner is long over when he finally slinks inside. It’s pretty dark, and for one foolish moment Stiles thinks Derek might actually be already asleep, which would delay his certain and gruesome Murder by Roommate at least until the morning.  
But then the lamp on Derek’s desk is switched on, the chair swivels around slowly and movie-worthy, revealing a livid-looking Derek. Stiles freezes in front of the door. It’s all very cliché and dramatic – slightly terrifying, too, Stiles is not gonna lie – but the first and foremost thing that comes to his mind is the fact that Derek’s left foot is still bare. 

And because Stiles might possess _some_ of those self-preservation skills, but nobody said they were any good, he blurts out with: “I don’t think this trendsetting thing is going to work out for you, buddy. People are way too obsessed with their shoes.”

Derek doesn’t seem to appreciate his sense of humor in dangerous situations. He gets up from his chair and walks up to Stiles, looming over him with his arms crossed, biceps bulging. They’re pretty much the same height, Stiles knows, but Derek seems to swell in his anger.

“All day long,” Derek begins slowly and carefully, “I ran around campus with only one shoe. People were staring at me, asking dumb questions, and my dumbass professor nearly chucked me out for impropriety. And nowhere, no matter where I went in between and after class, did I find a single goddamn sock. So I’m going to ask this only one more time, Stiles. _Where is my stuff_.”

You can hardly hear Derek’s voice quiver with anger beneath his well-controlled tone, Stiles has got to hand that to him. But he was clear enough, so Stiles shuffles past the wall of muscles that is his roommate, and goes to pull out a huge bin bag from under his bed. He heaves it up (Derek owns _a lot_ of shoes, who would’ve thought) and drops it wordlessly onto Derek’s bed.

Impressively, Derek still doesn’t flip.

“You said you hid them all over campus.”

“I said I _believed_ I did,” Stiles corrects impishly, “Obviously I was mistaken.”

“Obviously,” Derek agrees, takes a deep breath and smiles pleasantly, “So this is how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Stiles grins. “Absolutely.”

“Alright. But whatever happens next, just remember that this is on you.”

And with that, Derek grabs his bin bag of footwear, salutes, and leaves the room just like that.

Stiles has a bit of trouble falling asleep afterwards, due to an inexplicable uneasiness Derek’s smile has caused him, but he’s still not awake long enough to hear Derek come back that night.

 

~

 

The ungodly reason for Derek’s creepy smile and his late-night getaway explain themselves to Stiles the very next morning, when he’s taking a shower and the suds suddenly turn turquoise.

“Uh oh,” Stiles goes quietly. 

With a sinking feeling, he reaches once more for his bottle of shampoo. Stiles doesn’t usually pay a lot of attention to it (which is probably why he didn’t notice this in the first place, damn it,) but he’s pretty sure that his shampoo wasn’t distinctly blue yesterday.  
Eyes widening, he scrambles out of the shower so quickly he nearly breaks several bones. But when Stiles end up in front of the mirror, he thinks that a broken bone might actually be preferable to this.

His hair is turquoise.

Well, right now it’s still wet, clinging to his head and mostly a deep blue, but Stiles is pretty sure that once dry, his hair will be a vibrant, striking _turquoise_ , and Derek is so dead.

He doesn’t brother getting his stuff, only pulling on a pair of boxers before he’s off towards his room, fueled by rage and indifferent to several doors opening when he roars “Derek- _fucking_ \- HALE!” while sprinting down the corridor.  
He only just refrains from kicking down the door.

Derek is fully closed and ready to leave for class, but he lounges on his bed as though he was only waiting for Stiles to return. He probably did, too, because he takes one look at Stiles and dissolves into delighted laughter.  
A very, very tiny part of Stiles is momentarily thrown off, because holy shit did he not know how amazing Derek’s laugh was. Probably because he’s never heard Derek laugh so hard before, which is concerning, now that Stiles thinks about it. He usually makes anybody laugh within the first five minutes of meeting them.

“I’d never thought this would work,” Derek wheezes out then, “I was sure you’d be smart enough to notice that your shampoo was freaking _blue_ and you’d chew me out for trying something so dumb, but oh, this is incredibly amazing.”

“You dyed my hair!” Stiles yells, fury crashing back into him in waves, “How is that amazing?! I can’t believe you did this, what were you thinking?? You _dyed_ my hair!”

“Chill,” Derek chuckles, and Stiles wants to strangle him.

“Chill? _Chill?_ Are you fucking kidding me?! How am I supposed to fucking chill with blue hair, that’s-hey!”

With a growl, he picks up the small carton Derek just chucked at his head. It appears to be the package that formerly contained the hair dye, with the picture of an equally turquoise-haired girl on the front. Stiles feels nauseous.

“It washes out,” Derek explains very clearly, “Twenty showers tops and it’ll be gone, so chill.”

With a broad grin, he scoops up his backpack and is out the room before Stiles can do more than blink.

Good for him, probably, Stiles thinks furiously, because his next course of action would’ve been more violent than he’d like to admit.

 

Twenty showers tops. _Chill_.

 

~

 

Clever as he is, Stiles hides his gloriously turquoise hair under a beanie for the day. That works pretty well for a while, because neither his classmates nor his professors give a fuck about what he wears and nobody suspects anything. At lunch, however, Stiles realizes that he forgot to bring his friends into the equation.

Lydia takes one look at him when he takes his seat between her and Scott, says, “It’s impolite to wear a hat inside,” and rips it off his head before Stiles can even begin to react. 

The sight of his new hairdo seems to take a while to sink in, because at first, all four of his friends only blink at him.

Isaac recovers first and clears his throat with a serious expression. “You’ve got a little something in your hair, mate,” he says and that’s what it does for all of them.

“Oh, very funny,” Stiles grumps, crossing his arms over his chest while is best friends laugh themselves breathless around him.

“This is too good to be true,” Erica chokes out eventually, extracting her phone from her bag in between snorts of laughter. “Smile for the camera, honey.”

Stiles makes a face at her and grabs his beanie back out of Lydia’s limp hand, to prevent further damage. Half the dining hall is already staring at them, but he suspects that’s more because of his apparently insane friends than because of his hair. Nevertheless, better safe than sorry.

Scott, who’s by now laying across the table in his exhilaration, points at Stiles as he pulls the fabric down to his ears. “Derek is a genius.”

“Excuse me?!” Stiles exclaims, “There’s nothing genius about Derek, this prank is as basic and unimaginative as it can get. I’m disappointed in your lack of judgement, Scotty.”

“Don’t worry, Scott, that’s just his injured pride talking,” Lydia says between giggles, “because he fell for it.”

Stiles wrings his hands. “I can’t believe this happened! I look like the fucking incarnation of Teddy Lupin, goddamnit I’m going to kill Derek,” he frets and promptly sends Erica and Scott into another fit of laughter.

“Incarnation of who?” Isaac asks quizzically, earning himself a slap on the back of the head curtesy of Erica.

“I’m not going to grace this ridiculous question with an answer,” Stiles says haughtily, tugs his beanie as far down as possible and goes to get some food.

His friends are still giggling by the time he gets back.  
His friends are useless.

 

+++

 

Stiles spends the next few days with the beanie more or less glued to his head. In some classes they make him take it off, and a few of his classmates laugh at him after hearing the story behind his dyed hair, but most people are decidedly unbothered by it. 

“It’s the twenty-first century, bro,” Danny sums it up to him Friday night, after a girl in the bar they’re in complimented his great choice of color. “People can have blue hair without it being a big deal.”

“It’s turquoise,” Stiles corrects resignedly.

 

Since they’re only a month into the semester and Stiles’ workload is still mostly moderate, he allows himself to sleep in on Saturday. Derek, of course, is up at the crack of dawn, goes for a run, for a shower, and for breakfast before Stiles has done more than stirred slightly. Sometime around ten, Derek noisily packs a few books, tells Stiles he’s off to the library (not that Stiles had asked, but Derek probably just wanted to make sure he’d really woken Stiles up from his well-deserved slumber) and slams the door for good measure.  
Stiles huffs out a breath. 

Just as he’s finally made it out of bed and is on his way to his wardrobe, the screen of Derek’s laptop, which he left on his desk, suddenly lights up and the annoying ringtone that indicates a Skype call fills the silent room. Stiles freezes in his step. Should he ignore it? Shut the lid and tell Derek he had a call? … Answer it?  
Stiles slowly sinks into the chair in front of the laptop and stars at the Skype logo. 

“CHaleTheMighty calling”, the screen reads. 

So it’s definitely one of Derek’s relatives… judging by the name, probably not his mom or dad… didn’t Derek mention a sister at least once in those few civil conversation they’ve had? Stiles shifts and leans to the side as far as possible while still being able to see the screen, trying to avoid the range of the camera, and presses “Accept” before he can change his mind.

He can just make out two girls in the window that pops open. They’re both intimidatingly pretty, resembling each other and Derek so much they can only be siblings, and blinking in confusion.

“Uhh…” goes the one that looks older, furrowing her eyebrows and leaning closer.

“Oh my god, what an idiot,” says the other one under her breath, and then louder, “Hey, blue head, you do realize we can see you, right?”

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment before righting his position like a normal person. 

“Hi, there,” he says with an awkward smile, “I’m Stiles. Sorry about… the weirdness.”

The girls grin devilishly.

“Hello,” says the older one, “I’m Laura, this is Cora. You must be the infamous roommate.”

“Well, uh, I… are you Derek’s sisters?”

“Obviously,” says Cora and rolls her eyes, “Why exactly are you on my brother’s computer?”

“Uhm. Because he’s not here?”

Cora narrows her eyes. She looks like she’s maybe sixteen, or seventeen, definitely younger than Stiles, but he still feels distinctly threatened. 

“Okay,” she says slowly, “Why is your hair blue?”

“Because your dumbass brother put dye in my shampoo and I fell for it,” Stiles blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Derek did that?” Laura questions incredulously, while Cora starts cackling next to her.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Well, you’ll have to believe it, because I can assure you I did not do this to myself,” Stiles grumps, “Turquoise is definitely not my color. It doesn’t match my eyes.”

“He’s got a point, Laur,” Cora giggles, “Looks like he’s a bad influence on Derek. Good for him.”

“Excuse me, my influence is entirely positive. I am a delight.”

This time, Laura laughs too. “Derek doesn’t seem to think so,” she says good-naturedly, “He’s been nothing but complaining about you for the last three weeks. Didn’t you steal all his left shoes a few days ago?”

“Um- yes?” Stiles admits carefully. 

Nice as they are, Derek’s sisters don’t seem like people you’d want to cross, and he’s not sure if they’re going to be mad about what he did to their brother. Then again, they are on a computer he can always turn off.

“Amazing,” Cora gushes, thrilled.

“And that’s why you ended up blue-haired, huh? I’m impressed; I didn’t think Derek had it in him.”

“Me either,” Stiles admits regretfully.

Cora leans back in her chair. “I’m actually quite proud. About time someone finally managed to corrupt him. What are you going to do next? Don’t worry, we won’t rat you out to Derek, this is far too entertaining to watch.”

“Derek called me while on his shoe hunt,” Laura says agreeably, “It was the funniest conversation I had all week.”

At that moment, Stiles decides that Derek’s sisters are great people. 

“I don’t get this,” he says, pointing at the girls via camera, “How come you guys are so cool? What happened to Derek?”

“Aw, thank you,” Cora chuckles, while Laura shrugs. 

“Derek’s always been the good child. You know; quiet, nice, never caused trouble. We don’t know what went wrong.”

Stiles laughs delightedly.

“So what are you gonna-“ Cora begins, but she stops mid-sentence and both girls turn around in their chairs. Behind them, Stiles can just make out a door opening in the back of the room. A woman walks towards the camera, growing bigger with every step, and when she bends down between her daughters, the question as to where Laura and Cora (and Derek) got their good looks from is immediately answered.

“Oh,” the woman says after a moment, “I’m sorry, I thought you were talking to Derek. Who’s that guy?”

“Mom, he can hear you,” Laura hisses. 

Cora looks like she tries very hard not to laugh.

“Oh, right, of course,” their mom says ( _Derek’s_ mom, Stiles is talking to Derek’s mum, this is potentially disastrous and all he can think is, _Abort mission, abort mission NOW_ ), “Hi, I’m Talia Hale.” She squints her eyes a little. “Are you Stiles?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles answers on autopilot, “Nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Hale smiles. “And you. I’ve heard so much about you from Derek. He never mentioned you had blue hair, though.”

“Mom,” Laura groans next to her, and before Stiles can do more that chuckle nervously, Cora springs into action.

“That’s actually Derek’s fault, mom,” she says, and that devilish grin is back. “He put dye in Stiles’ shampoo as a prank. Unbelievable, right?”

Mrs. Hale’s eyes widen and Stiles thinks that now would probably be a good moment for him to make his testament.

 

+++

 

“You told _my mother_?”

Stiles cringes in his seat. It’s Sunday and he’s in a booth at the local Starbucks with Scott, Lydia, Erica and, surprisingly, Boyd. (Or maybe not so surprisingly, after all – Erica tends to get what she wants.) Isaac is running late due to his annoying habit of getting stuck in the library, but somebody else has just stalked over to their table with a most hurt expression on their face. Stiles grimaces into his muffin, while five accusatory pairs of eyes seem to bore into his skull.

“Really, Stiles?” Derek continues in that growly voice of his, “You start a fucking prank war and then you go snitch to my Mom when I retaliate?”

“Ohh, that is so low,” Erica gushes, excitedly slurping her smoothie. 

Boyd, who recently and successfully put his arm around her shoulders, just looks distinctly pleased with himself.

Lydia shakes her head disdainfully. “Stiles, you do realize that this is university and not kindergarten, right?” she chides, and Scott gives him the disappointed puppy-eyes, and Stiles drops his head to the tabletop, groaning.

“I didn’t mean to!” he says, and sits right back up when Derek snorts doubtfully. “No, really. It was an accident. I did not mean for your mother to find out, I’m not that much of an asshole. But I’m sorry, okay?”

Derek blinks.

Stiles turns to look at Lydia for help, but the redhead just raises her eyebrows as if to say, “Is that all you’re gonna do?”

“Uhh,” Stiles goes dumbly, looking back up at Derek, who still stands there next to their table, arms crossed and biceps bulging intimidatingly, but he does look a little lost. “Do you want to join us? Isaac’s not gonna show up for at least twenty minutes. And, uh, Boyd is here?”

Boyd, as Stiles has found out quickly, is a lot more helpful that his friends and pats the empty seat beside him invitingly, until Derek drops into it.  
There he sits now, scowling at Stiles, while the others stare at them as though waiting for something to explode. But Stiles does feel guilty about his involuntary payback, so he’s going to be nice. But only this once.

“So, can I get you something? Do you want a blueberry muffin?”

“No,” Derek says stoically.

“No as in I can’t get you anything, or no as in you don’t want a blueberry muffin?”

“You told my mother that I put dye in your shampoo. She called and lectured me for ten minutes about manners. I want a double chocolate chunk brownie.”

“ _Accidentally_. But yeah, that’s fair,” Stiles nods, gets up and heads to the counter, leaving Scott, Erica and Lydia all gaping after him.

 

~

 

As it turns out, his friends don’t share Stiles resolute hatred of Derek.

Lydia grants him one bite out of his brownie before she starts interrogating. However, after only four moderately uncomfortable questions, she learns that someone finally shares her interest in old Latin books and is downright delighted with Derek afterwards. (“Nerds,” Stiles whispers under his breath. If he had the patience, he could probably learn Latin in a month… Maybe two.) 

Erica, of course, matches Derek in levels of both intimidation and dark humor, which she’s a little too enthusiastic about, for Stiles liking. Derek, in turn, seems to be weirdly fond of her, which (as Stiles deducts through close observation) probably comes from her resemblance to Cora, at least in character. 

Boyd is a given, of course.

Scott, bless him, tries his hardest to meet Derek with as much aversion as possible for a puppy-human like Scott, but then he finds out that Derek’s family has about half a dozen dogs at home, and he’s a goner.

Stiles would have never believed it, but Isaac is actually his last hope for backup. But when the little shit finally does turn up (43 minutes late, with a fancy hipster drink, a stack of books and the usual stupid scarf), he only jokes: “Replaced me, have you?”, squeezes into the booth next to Derek like it’s nothing – Erica by now sitting mostly in Boyd’s lap, otherwise they wouldn’t even fit – and strikes up a conversation about English literature. Because of course Derek is also an expert on Shakespeare.

Stiles is officially on his own.

 

~

 

“… with his hair dripping and only in his boxers. You should have seen the way he looked at me,” Derek recounts serenely, while the others have once again dissolved into general laughter. 

Stiles really doesn’t understand how this is still so funny and pulls his customary beanie lower to hide his still brightly turquoise hair, while continuously glaring daggers at Derek.

“I still can’t believe you went through my wardrobe to find my shampoo bottle,” Stiles says angrily, when it gets too much. He can usually laugh at himself easily enough, but Derek just brings it out in him. “That’s invasion of privacy, definitely.”

“Says the guy who answered my Skype call.”

Stiles glare intensifies. “I just didn’t think a clean freak like you would dare to go anywhere near my oh-so messy wardrobe,” he taunts, addressing one of the many, many complaints Derek uses to make his life difficult.

“Just because I don’t have empty chips wrappers and lonely socks all over my bed, I’m not automatically a clean freak,” Derek shoots back and Stiles can feel himself blush. 

As his friends laugh harder, Derek grins at him, eyes sparkling. It’s a sight to behold, and Stiles forgets to think up a good comeback for a second.

“And anyways, to find the shampoo I only had to get past the Batman briefs, so no big deal.”

There goes that moment. 

Stiles groans – he’s probably tomato-red by now – and kicks Derek in the shin under the table. Derek kicks back hard, but as the girls hoot and Scott’s laughter slowly turns into hiccups, Stiles can’t help chuckling along a bit. Derek looks positively delighted at that and maybe, Stiles thinks, just maybe this is not entirely bad.

As Scott begins to recount the story of the Infamous Burning Wardrobe, Stiles has to admit that Derek does look pretty happy, here in this stuffed booth, with brownie crumbs in the corner of his mouth and surrounded by laughing people. Actually, this is probably the happiest he’s ever seen the guy.

 

~

 

At half past four, Derek remembers that he was originally on his way to the gym (of course he was) and bids them a friendly goodbye.

“Did we just make friends with Stiles’ declared nemesis?” Isaac wonders after a moment, a shit-eating grin forming on his face. 

Of course he’d enjoy that. Sucker.

Out of principle, Stiles points an accusing finger at all his friends in turn. “You have officially failed your job as my best friends. I demand replacements. This is treason.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, honey,” Erica says with a smirk, “we all saw you stare at him as though he personally hung the moon.”

“I did no such thing,” Stiles exclaims indignantly, “Scott! Tell her!”

Scott blinks. “Uhh, I guess that’s up to interpretation? I mean - you kind did look at him a lot, but that could’ve just as easily been out of deep-felt hatred, right? But, er… after the Batman briefs, you laughed at basically everything he said, even when it wasn’t that funny. Sorry, mate.”

Stiles just shakes his head in resignation. If there _are_ best-friends-replacements, he is officially demanding them now.

 

+++

 

A good week later – Stiles and Derek have managed to maintain a shaky ceasefire the whole time – Erica brings Boyd along to their group’s daily lunch date and announces, blushing untypically and adorably, that they are now officially dating. Lydia, who obviously already knew this, is dutifully supportive, while Stiles, Scott and Isaac immediately break out in endless teasing. (They all end up with grains of rice in their hair, but that was a calculated risk – it’s Erica, after all. You don’t mess with her and go unpunished.)

With Boyd comes Derek, inevitably, because not even Derek is enough of a loner to eat lunch all by himself. Since Stiles knows that Isaac and Derek have started sharing a desk in their English literature class, and that Scott has met Derek at the gym several times by now, he’s resigned himself to the fact that they’ve kind of adopted Derek into their group. 

Which, great, now Stiles’ mind associates Derek with a lost puppy, _just_ what he needed. 

 

“Well, it’s not so bad, is it?” Lydia comments one evening, as they’re doing a late night run to the store together. “At least you’re not constantly angry at each other anymore. That got very tiring after a while. Now you’re even bringing him Hershey’s kisses.”

“He’s obsessed with them,” Stiles mumbles absent-mindedly, contemplating the huge variety of chips. “I noticed he gets grumpy when he’s out.”

“Of course you noticed,” Lydia says under her breath, and then louder: “Anyway, he’s kind of growing on me. It’s refreshing to have some sophisticated company to talk to for a change.”

“… Lydia, did you just subtly call all of us idiots?”

“I would never,” Lydia lies without blushing and carries her diet coke to the self-checkout.

“Scandalous,” Stiles shakes his head and feigns being hurt, “I’m ratting you out to Erica, just so you know. And I’ll have you know I’m plenty sophisticated.”

“Honey, you’re preferred literature is comic books.”

“You’re making a lot of geeks very angry with such statements, Lyds.”

“I’ll risk it, but thanks for your concern. Now walk, I’ve got several equations that would floor your sophisticated brain waiting for me before bed.”

“ _Scandalous_.”

 

~

 

24 hours later, Stiles deeply regrets ever buying Derek chocolate. 

“Derek,” he begins blankly, staring incredulously into the screen of his laptop, “Derek, I have a question.”

“Which is?” Derek inquires nicely, from where he is doing one-armed push-ups on the floor, the show-off.

“I can’t find my essay.”

“Which essay?” 

Oh, he sounds so innocent. _Too_ innocent. Stiles takes a deep breath.

“The one I’ve been stressing about all week? The one I have to hand in _tomorrow_??”

“Ah, right,” Derek nods, and proceeds to sit-ups. “Well, where did you put it?”

“I saved it to the ‘Essays’ folder on my laptop, like I always do!”

“Okay. And?”

“AND?!” Stiles explodes, a little panicky, “ _And_ , dearest Derek, can you explain to me why my ‘Essays’ folder now contains about a hundred subfolders, all of them labeled ‘Idiot’ with a smiley face??”

“Ah,” Derek nods again, as though he just remembered something, “Well, you know, I haven’t had my revenge yet.”

“ _You hacked my computer_?!” 

“Obviously. Your essay is hidden in one of these folders. I would have made another three subfolders for each, but I couldn’t count on you being gone long enough last night.”

Stiles stomach sinks with panic. If Derek hacked into his computer, his essay is the least of his worries. He finished it last night, and while looking for it will be annoying, it’s doable enough within maybe half an hour. But there are other things on there… like a very specific folder right there on the desktop, leaping to the eye… labeled ‘Stiles Time’.  
And now, Stiles will not admit to anything here, but there is the tiniest possibility that his diverse and well-ordered porn (which is nothing to be ashamed of, nope) might feature several dudes (also nothing shameful, Stiles’ bisexuality is not a secret) with an unfortunate optical resemblance to one Derek Hale.

Stiles gulps. “What else did you do on my computer?”

“Nothing, don’t worry,” Derek says jovially, coming over to lean against the desk (and Stiles notices, not for the first time tonight, that Derek works out shirtless). “We did have that talk about privacy.”

And he fucking winks. What the hell.

Still, Stiles forces himself to calm down. No unfortunate Derek-lookalikes slash porn stars were seen. Derek didn’t do anything besides creating a shitton of ‘Idiot :)” folders.  
Apropos.

“You know, this is pathetically unimaginative,” Stiles says, trying to seem confident, “Nearly as bad as your hair dye prank-“

“Which you fell for,” Derek throws in.

“Irrelevant,” Stiles snaps, “You could have at least come up with a few more insults, a hundred idiots are quite boring.”

Derek smiles indulgently. “No, you know, I thought this might make it harder to remember which ones you already checked. Also, copy and paste is way quicker if you have to label so many folders,” he explains seriously, and Stiles harrumphs. 

“That’s it?” Derek questions after a moment, when Stiles just begins clicking on stupid folders, “You’re not going to chew me out?”

“I admit defeat,” Stiles growls through gritted teeth, “But only for tonight.”

Derek grins proudly. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory. I’ll celebrate by going on a run.”

He walks to his bed and grabs a muscle shirt, but doesn’t pull it on yet. “You know, Stiles,” he contemplates and comes close again, bending down so his naked chest engulfs Stiles from behind without actually touching him, “Not to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I did quite enjoy the journey through your computer… It was quite flattering.”

And with that ominous comment, Derek is out the door.

Stiles is left staring at his keyboard without actually seeing it.  
Did he…?  
Nah. Nah, surely not, if Derek had seen it, he wouldn’t let it go this easily. And Derek would never in the first place…  
_Would he_??

 

~

 

By the next morning, after a sleepless night full of word to word analysis of everything that was said the previous night, Stiles has come to the conclusion that Derek has indeed seen his _flattering_ porn. Stiles has thus experienced the most embarrassing moment in his life so far, and while immediately leaving the country is tempting, it’s not really an option, so he goes for the next best thing: terrible vengeance.

To his advantage, Stiles has recently obtained a phone number that is going to get him just that.

 

~

 

One call, three emails and a run to the local drugstore later, Stiles is feeling marvelously triumphant. It’s Friday, his classes ended two hours ago, and he’s on his way to his and Derek’s room with two steaming cups of coffee. Their corridor is full of laughing people, clustered around the wall every few yards. Stiles smirks at them.

In their room, Derek is on his bed, face hidden by another massive book.

“Why weren’t you at lunch today?” he asks from behind it, sounding perfectly unbothered.

“I was busy,” Stiles says mysteriously and puts one of the coffees on Derek’s orderly bedside table.

Derek stares at it. “You brought me coffee,” he states emotionlessly.

“Yes,” Stiles says and takes a sip of his own one.

“Is it poisoned?”

“Ha, ha.”

“Did you spit in it?”

“Derek, come on,” Stiles exasperates, laughing slightly, “You can drink it, I promise I didn’t do anything _to your coffee_.” 

Derek’s hand freezes in midair, halfway through reaching for the cup. “Oh my god, what did you do?”

“I called Cora,” Stiles reveals, smugly watching the panic rise in Derek’s eyes.

“You have my sister’s number?!”

“Yes. I got it when I talked to her via your Skype. It’s a shame I didn’t meet her sooner, she’s just my kind of person.”

“Which is why I would’ve never voluntarily introduced you! She’s never going to meet Erica and Lydia, either, if it’s up to me. That would be the death of my sanity,” Derek babbles mindlessly, basically leaping off his bed. “Come on, tell me quickly, what did you do?”

“I had her send me some old and _very_ lovely photos,” Stiles explains, trying and failing to hide his glee. “You might wanna check the dorm corridors. And the notice boards… _all_ the notice boards on campus, actually.”

Derek stops still and his eyes flutter shut.

“Please tell me,” he demands quietly, “that you didn’t put up my baby pictures everywhere.”

“Nah. Only the truly embarrassing ones. I kept the cute ones, I thought we could stick them to our door, what do you think?”

“I think that after I retrieve all those photos, I will crush you,” Derek says evenly.

Stiles grins mischievously. “Don’t get your hopes up. They’ve been up for two hours now. I think some of them are already trending online.”

Derek starts growling dangerously.

With a very manly shriek, which he is going to deny until his death, Stiles is tackled onto Derek’s bed. The stronger guy pins his arms and legs to the mattress and Stiles is rendered entirely immobile.

“Now what?” Stiles manages to get out after a few seconds of Derek just hovering above him, breathing heavily. He fixed his gaze at Derek’s nose, so he can avoid both his eyes and his lips. (Those are dangerous territory.) Unfortunately, upon closer examination, it turns out that Derek’s nose is stupidly adorable, just like his dumb bunny teeth, and there goes that strategy.

“I’m trying to decide whether beating you up is worth getting kicked out,” Derek grits out. 

Stiles smiles indulgently. “Well, I wouldn’t wanna be responsible for the end of your academic career. And, you know, my dad is a cop. Beating me up is probably not the best idea.”

“Then what should I do to you instead?” Derek asks… huskily? 

Stiles doesn’t let himself linger on that thought and puts on his most charming grin. “You’re just going to have to get your revenge another way. But, for your own benefit, you should probably go get your pictures first, before someone finds the one where you’re three years old and wearing your mom’s pumps.”

“STILES!”

 

~

 

Less than a day later, the entire dormitory is plastered with identical pictures of Stiles, eyes closed and face covered in pink lipstick. Stiles grins weakly at his image on the wall. He kicks the door to his room open to find Derek on the floor folding laundry.

“I thought I should add my own tribute to your new idea of decoration,” Derek tells him without looking up to see who it is. “What do you think?”

“I didn’t expect anything less from you,” Stiles says and, out of principle, kicks down a pile of already-folded shirts. “Did you get my stuff, too? I left you some change.”

Derek points to his bed. “Over there. But don’t expect me to fold it for you.”

“I’m not delusional. Move over, will you?” Stiles says and dumps his basket full of freshly washed and dried clothes onto the floor next to Derek.

“Oh, sure, you’re very welcome. It was my pleasure to wash your dirty Batman briefs,” Derek snarks sarcastically, “Next laundry day, when it’s your turn, I’ll make sure to add a lot of extra-smelly socks.”

“Wow, you’re so mature.”

“More so than you.”

“That’s not hard.”

“…”

“Yeah, no, don’t say it. I have no idea where I was going with that.”

 

For longer than strictly necessary, they sit next to each other on the floor, folding laundry and listening to Derek’s ancient portable radio playing 80’s songs. If declared, resolute hatred should slowly be turning into some sort of tentative friendship, Stiles is still blissfully unaware.

 

+++

 

Over the next two weeks, while Stiles’ gloriously turquoise hair goes steadily back to brown, the pranks continue on peacefully.

Derek steals Stiles’ Batman briefs and turns them into a flag that hangs out of their window for two days before Stiles notices. In his need for imminent repayment, Stiles reverts to basic measures and draws a sharpie-moustache on Derek’s face while he sleeps. 

Derek strikes back with the enthusiastic help of their friends and wraps every single object Stiles owns in two layers of cling film.

Stiles retaliated by hacking Derek’s phone and manipulating his autocorrect (which is why Mrs. Hale receives a text that reads “ _Mom I’m tapping dat ass this weekend. Is Laura tapping dat ass too_?” Cora sends Stiles a voice message that is just thirty seconds of loud laughter).

It’s pretty much all fun and games, until…

 

“My Jeep! My _Jeep_! I don’t believe him!” Stiles rants, pacing up and down Scott’s tiny dorm room.

Isaac, sitting in the stupid beanbag as usual, cranes his head to give him a look. “Dude, you need to chill, we’re getting slaughtered by zombies, here,” he says, waving his controller at the TV screen, “and it’s not like he smashed it, he just put a fish under your seat.”

“It had nearly ninety degrees outside yesterday! Do you have any idea how bad my car _smells_?”

Isaac rolls his eyes and looks at Scott for support. Scott shoots a zombie and shrugs. “It’s his Jeep.”

“You people are so weird.”

“Oh, please, you love us, deny it all you want” Stiles clicks his tongue, “but we’re not here to discuss your emotional issues, pumpkin. I need a plan! Derek is going fucking down. This just got personal.”

“Just now, huh?” Isaac ponders sarcastically, “Didn’t he loosen all the screws in your chair last week so it collapsed under you? And you hit your head?”

“Pssh, who cares about that, he didn’t mean for me to get hurt-”

“Plus Derek spent, like, two hours holding an ice pack to his head,” Scott adds in a stage whisper, eyes glued to the screen.

“-and this is my baby we’re talking about! There are limits!”

“I thought Derek was your baby,” Isaac snickers like the twelve-year-old he is and Stiles kicks the beanbag, hard.

“I want revenge!”

Scott frowns slightly. “…For your car?”

“Yes, for my car, did you not listen? Have the video games finally addled your brain?”

“You’re mean.”

“And you’re not helping! I need the ultimate prank, but Google has failed me. All the stuff on there is either lame, or dangerous, or targeting Derek’s room, _which I live in_ , too!”

“Then make something up,” Scott suggests, probably only as to get Stiles to shut up, so he can concentrate on his zombie apocalypse.

Stiles contemplates that. “Huh… Remind me, when is Danny’s next party?”

“Friday. Why?”

“I might have an idea… it would certainly be something else… but I’m gonna need-“

“To see a doctor? A cold shower? A _hobby_?” Isaac suggests sweetly.

“-Erica! And you guys will need to help me, too. Cool?”

Isaac shrugs. “Sure, if that means you’re going to leave now. It’s not only the jeep that smells like rotten fish, you know.”

“Love you, too.”

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

 

~

 

He finds Erica in the library.  
This is basically the last place he’s checked, because Erica simply loathes the library. She says she can’t stand the dusty air and forced silence, instead borrowing the books she needs and taking them outside, or to a room full of talking people. It’s common knowledge in their group of friends that Erica only resorts to the library when she really has no other choice, and if that’s the case, you’d better not disturb her. Which is why, when Lydia reminded him of the huge, reportedly horrible midterm Erica has to take tomorrow, Stiles went to buy precautionary donuts.

“Hello, my lovely, beautiful friend.”

“What do you want, Stiles?” Erica hisses aggressively , leafing through a heavy-looking book at top speed. 

She’s hoarded an entire table at the very back of the library for herself, book and papers strewn all over it. Stiles feels distinctly sympathetic; Erica has even foregone her usual red lipstick and excessive eyeliner, her hair is a messy bun on top of her head and she has dark circles beneath her eyes.

“Not going great, huh?” Stiles asks quietly, pulling out at chair opposite her.

“No, so you’d better be quick with whatever brought you here, because you’re distracting me and I _really_ don’t need that right now.”

Straight to the point then, Stiles thinks. “You know about Danny’s party on Friday, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going?”

“If I survive this exam, yes.”

“And you’re taking Boyd?”

“ _Yes_.”

“And you’re not just going to hide in a corner, making out all evening?”

“Stiles, I swear to god-“

“Right, sorry.” Stiles lifts his hands in apology.” I’m sorry! Quit glaring. I need you guys to bring Derek along.”

“Why?” Erika asks and slams her book shut, making both of them flinch at the loud noise.

“Because I need him at the party.”

“Why?”

“…Because?”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Stiles, honey, if you want to go to the party _with_ Derek you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“That’s not why!” Stiles exclaims loudly and is immediately shushed by a nearby student.

“That’s not why,” Stiles repeats in an urgent whisper, “I wanna prank him at the party, alright?”

Again, eye rolling. “I still don’t get why that means you can’t ask him yourself. You’re friends, you could just invite him and see if he wants to go.”

“Erica, you know full well that Derek and I are not friends, we’re basically engaged in a prank war!”

“Pathetic excuse of a prank war,” Erica murmurs absently, but Stiles ignores her.

“You have to do it for me. He trusts Boyd, and Boyd trusts you. Please? Pretty please?”

“You’re behaving like kids pulling each other’s pigtails and it’s ridiculous. Why would I encourage this idiotic shit?”

“Because…” Stiles whispers, rummaging in his bag, “I smuggled your favorite donuts in here for you.”

Erica stares at the tabletop as though she could see through it. “The ones with strawberry frosting?”

“And extra sprinkles,” Stiles wheedles in a singsong voice. He looks left and right, before discreetly setting the box on the table and sliding it over.

Erica’s face slackens with longing. “Alright, fine,” she concedes, greedily pulling a donut from the box without bothering to check if anyone’s watching. “But I won’t help with the prank itself.”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles waves her off contently, “I’ve got my minions for that. You’re only required to take pictures. You’ll know when.”

“Fine,” Erica says and licks strawberry frosting off her fingers, “You got what you want, now leave. I need to concentrate.”

“Rude,” Stiles pouts mockingly, “Don’t you wanna spend time with me?”

“I’ll tell Scott and Isaac you called them your minions.”

“Alright, good luck, see you tomorrow.”

 

+++

 

“This plan is stupid.”

With a look of deepest disgust, Isaac accepts a shoe-sized plastic container and shakes it critically. “Where did you even get that much glitter?”

“At Michaels, Where Creativity Happens,” Stiles answers without missing a beat. “Now stop nagging and look after my glitter. This is crucial.”

“No, it really is stupid. What are you even getting out of this?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I wanna see Derek all flustered and wet and glittery. He’s gonna be so mad.”

Isaac’s left eyelid twitches. “And how is that any good?”

“It’s not good, it’s funny. You’ll see,” Stiles says confidently, pointing at the house they’re currently walking towards and turning to Scott. “Danny’s gonna show you where the garden hose is, before everybody else shows up. I was gonna give you a huge tub of honey, or something equally sticky, but Danny doesn’t want a huge mess in his parent’s backyard. So water it is.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Scott salutes with a sunny grin, and sprints ahead to meet Danny on the porch.

Isaac, however, is not that easily satisfied. “I didn’t think I’d ever say it, but I agree with Erica,” he says flatly, “You wanna get in Derek’s pants, and this is the wrong way to do it. It’s gonna backfire, trust me.”

“No, thanks,” Stiles quips, trying to ignore the blush rising quickly on his cheeks, “I don’t trust people who wear scarfs at 75 degrees.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have trusted you to come up with a decent prank.”

“Hey, it is decent,” Stiles grouches as they climes the front steps to Danny’s parents’ huge suburban house. “It’s very original, not like that mainstream shit Derek was pulling. I came up with it myself.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Isaac insists, “that’s why it’s so stupid.”

“… Shut up and do as you’re told. Jerk.”

“Ingenious comeback, Stilinski.”

 

~

 

Two hours later, the party is in fully swing. It’s not as huge and raucous as the one several weeks ago – the one Stiles got so smashed at he can’t remember swooning about Derek’s teeth – and Stiles knows about 80 percent of the people. He’s currently sat on the stairs in the hallway, with a beer and a perfect view of the front door. Erica is a notorious latecomer, and she, Boyd and Derek have yet to show up. The music, drumming loudly in his ears, switches to a slower song and Lydia sashays over, looking otherworldly pretty in a tight green dress. She leans against a banister and smirks at Stiles.

“Waiting for your lover to finally show up, are you? Missing him?”

Stiles frowns. “Lydia, are you drunk? Because you seem drunk.”

“Of course not,” she says and clicks her tongue, “But when everyone around me is, being the most intelligent person in the room gets suddenly a lot easier, you know?”

“Can’t say I do,” Stiles chuckles wryly.

“So what’s the plan?” Lydia asks, propping her chin up on her hands.

“What plan?”

“The plan. Derek. Prank. Erica said you made her talk Derek into coming, which was reportedly really hard. And Isaac was complaining a lot. I want to know what’s happening.”

“There’s gonna be lots of glitter,” Stiles confides is a stage whisper.

Lydia beams. “I love glitter!”

Stiles squints at her, taking in her bright eyes and rosy cheeks, thinking she might not be entirely as sober as she thinks she is. 

“Well, you’ll just have to be out in the backyard come midnight. That is, if Derek ever shows his face… You don’t think he’d bail last minute, do you?”

“No,” Lydia says at once, repeatedly twirling a strand of red hair around her index finger. “I think he’s excited to go. He came to our room this afternoon to ask what he should wear.”

“ _He didn’t_.”

“Yes he did. There, look,” she says and blatantly points across the hall, “You can thank me later.”

Stiles follows Lydia’s outstretched arm with his eyes to where Derek is indeed awkwardly slouching into the house after Erica and Boyd. He’s wearing a tight white shirt over black skinny jeans and Stiles’ brain is momentarily running on short-circuit.

“You’re welcome,” Lydia says gravely and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Well, I’ll go check if Jackson is snogging someone else already, see you later.”

Stiles is unable to dwell on his friend’s unhealthy relationship circumstances, because Derek, still by the door, has just spotted him on the stairs, and instead of frowning and walking the opposite way, just how they’d always done when accidentally meeting outside of their room, Derek smiles and comes right over. When did that happen?

“Looking good, there, Hale,” Stiles teases with a wink as Derek takes a seat one step below him. He doesn’t seem all too comfortable. “This your first party at university?” 

“As if,” Derek scoffs, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Stiles raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “…The fourth one.”

“You only went to three parties in two and a half years?”

“I don’t like parties, okay?” Derek huffs, eying the dancing crowd in the living room warily.

“Could have fooled me,” Stiles laughs, but takes pity on him nonetheless. “D’you wanna get drunk?”

“Absolutely.”

 

Derek stays glued to his side for the next two hours. Not that Stiles is ever going to admit it out loud, but it’s actually quite nice. After the right amount of tequila, he manages to talk Derek into playing beer pong with him, and the smile on Derek’s face after their team wins feels like success. Just like everyone around them (by now there are probably even more people than last time and Stiles was so wrong: it’s just as wild. He’s deduced that someone as popular as Danny is physically unable to throw a small party), the two of them are getting steadily more drunk, and it’s nearly midnight when Stiles remembers that he’s supposed to lure Derek into the backyard. There was a plan for this part of the prank, Stiles is sure of it, but he can’t really remember the specifics. It doesn’t matter now, though, because he can just ask: Derek is right next to him on this tiny sofa they squeezed onto a while ago, pressed against Stiles’ side like his own personal heater.

“I’m going out to the back porch,” he calls over the loud music, ‘S nice there. Wanna come?”

“I don’t smoke,” Derek says with a frown.

“No, I,” Stiles tries and giggles without reason, “I meant to get some air.”

“Why, are you hot?”

Stiles bites his lip and looks up at Derek through his lashes. “You tell me.”

Danny, who’s just passing by their sofa, laughs out loud and takes Stiles’ half-full beer away. Rude.

Derek isn’t laughing. “Yeah, let’s. Let’s go outside. Air’s good.”

Stiles grins and takes Derek’s hand without thinking, pulling him up and through the partying people towards the patio doors.  
The back porch of Danny’s parents’ ridiculously beautiful house is filled with people who are, in fact, only out here for a smoke. The more permanent dance escapees are scattered across the back garden, grouped around small tables or beneath lampion-adorned trees. It’s quite pretty and Stiles reaffirms the fact that Danny just doesn’t do things halfway. He reclines against the delicate balustrade surrounding the porch and smiles lazily as Derek steps up to him. Stiles deliberately leans back far enough for his black tee to ride up a little on his stomach, and notices gleefully how Derek’s gaze instantly darts down to the exposed skin. 

“Did you know you’re driving me insane? Like, all the time?” Derek lets him know gravely.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“You’re so… so…” Derek starts, but seems to lose his track halfway through. His eyes focus on a point somewhere around Stiles’ left eyebrow, which is a little weird.

“So?” Stiles prompts, and licks his lip when Derek’s eyes bore back into his. 

If he wants to plausibly deny that he’s been flirting with Derek later, now would be a good time to stop _all of this_. Abort Mission. But then again, it’s probably too late for any sort of denial anyways. Stiles has the uneasy feeling that Erica is somewhere out here, probably videotaping every single interaction of them in order to proof something later. There was a plan, Goddamnit.

“Frustrating,” Derek decides finally.

Stiles smirks. “Frustrated, are you? That’s too bad. Think there’s anything we could do to help you out?” 

He just can’t stop himself. Drunk Derek is too easy to manipulate. He blinks incredulously, and Stiles sways back into a standing position, which puts him awfully close to Derek for just a second. Then he loops his finger through Derek’s belt loop, winks like the bold idiot he apparently turns into after a few tequila shots, and tugs Derek down the pair of little steps onto the lawn _by his pants_. The things he does for this prank. (Only for the prank. This is all for the prank. Denial is crucial, okay.)

Derek has apparently overcome his state of shock and/or drunk bafflement.

“You are,” he growls, so low it’s barely audible over the chatter of the other party guests, “such a _tease_.”

Oh, here it goes. Stiles is slowly walking backwards, out into the middle of the garden, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. Derek follows him predator-like. Eyes flickering to the right for just a second, Stiles can make out Scott and Isaac in the shadow of the back porch, watching. No one’s paying them any attention.

“What are you gonna do about it, big guy?” he asks lowly, watching Derek’s pupils dilate. 

He’s vaguely aware of Erica, standing with Boyd, Lydia and Jackson by a tiny pond and pointing the camera of her phone at them. A part of Stiles’ brain, buried beneath too many tequila shots, is distantly observing that the plan to lure Derek into the backyard has certainly never involved so much sexual tension. Maybe it’s just an added bonus, Stiles figures. 

“I think the question is what you are going to do,” Derek rasps nonsensically.

“Oh,” Stiles says delightedly, “Thank you, that was the perfect cue... NOW,” he hollers as an afterthought, making the twenty-something people around them jump collectively. 

Scott bursts out of the shadows, garden hose in hand, and Stiles takes another few precautionary steps backwards. Derek doesn’t see it coming, having his back turned to the house, and the water makes him yelp in surprise. Laughing madly, Scott stands on his tiptoes and holds the hose above Derek’s head until he’s as soaked as someone who just took a fully-clothed swim. Derek doesn’t try to escape the unforgiving pour-down, apparently too shocked to move, and then the water stops and Scott bolts.

Stiles can basically watch Derek sobering up a little from the coldness of the water, blinking blankly at him from underneath his dripping hair.  
With a war cry that indicates that he’s had his fair share of booze as well, Isaac runs forward, brandishing the plastic container and turning it upside down over Derek’s head.

It’s glorious.  
The crowd shrieks and shouts, caught by surprise, and Derek looks like the impersonation of a first grader’s cheesy Christmas card and Stiles is laughing so hard his stomach hurts. It’s _glorious_.

It takes a while for them to calm down, but the silence gets quite solid as everyone stares at Derek, waiting for him to flip. He doesn’t. Instead, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment.

“Glitter,” Derek says then, like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, “Stiles. Really?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty, isn’t it? I specifically picked out shades of green and gold, to match your eyes,” Stiles beams, and, for a reason he’s not entirely sure of, a few of the girls around them coo. 

A bunch of emotions wash over Derek’s face in a matter of seconds, too fast for Stiles to read them all. Derek is standing there, dripping onto the grass, glittering in the dim light of the back porch and looking at Stiles as though he’s not sure what he’s seeing. Quite Suddenly, Stiles is awfully aware of how Derek’s soaked, white shirt clings to his abs, basically see-through, and while the glitter does accentuate Derek’s eyes brilliantly, if Stiles says so himself, the water part might not have been entirely thought through, after all. Getting a boner in front of all these people would completely defy the purpose of this prank, which is to embarrass _Derek_ , not Stiles.

Derek shakes his head like a wet dog, sending drops of water everywhere, but the glitter, of course, sticks to his skin and hair. He doesn’t seem to care though, but takes a few long strides which, suddenly, place him right in front of Stiles.

“So this is why you were such a damn tease all night,” Derek says lowly. He’s so close Stiles could count all the tiny flecks of gold clinging to his eyelashes.

“This is not what ‘mad’ looks like,” Isaac notes flatly, and a distant part of Stiles’ mind, the one that is fervently wondering what the hell is happening right now, is inclined to agree. This is very much not the reaction he was expecting, but Derek’s shirt is clingy and see-through, there’s glitter in his lashes and he keeps coming closer, and closer.

“I’m not gonna let a little glitter stop me,” Derek says, almost apologetically, and Stiles says, “Screw the plan,” and suddenly they are kissing.

It’s wet and urgent, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s getting glitter all over his own face now, too, but the kiss is too amazing for him to care. Somehow, and Stiles would probably freak out over the implications of this if he weren’t so busy with _soft, soft lips_ , it feels weirdly right.

They pull back at the same time, before it can get too heated, and even though they can’t have kissed more than ten seconds, Stiles is embarrassingly out of breath.

A new, hushed sort of silence has fallen over the watching crowd, as though all of them are collectively holding their breath. Then Erica wolf-whistles, breaking the charm and the twenty-or-so people start cheering and laughing all around them. Derek is awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, eyes still fixed on Stiles’ mouth. He looks like he got hit over the head with a baseball bat. 

“Um,” Stiles says eloquently, licking his lips. “Um. That was…”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees vaguely, following Stiles’ tongue with his eyes. 

Stiles very carefully hooks a finger into the collar of Derek’s shirt and pulls him close by it. “Everyone is watching us.”

“Wanna go find a place to snog in peace?” Derek asks bluntly, and Stiles gives a delighted laugh.

“I think you need a shower first.”

“So do you,” Derek argues quietly and wraps his insanely muscular arms around Stiles’ waist, which makes it a little hard to think straight (in several ways).

“You’re also very drunk,” Stiles reasons, because there’s a little part of him still sober enough to recognize that they should probably not rush into anything while they’re both intoxicated. 

“So are you,” Derek murmurs against his lip, and before Stiles can wonder when he got so close again, they’re kissing once more. People are probably still watching, and this is probably still a bad idea, but the little nagging voice in the bag of his head gets buried under the pleasant buzz of alcohol and the feeling if Derek’s lovely, lovely lips on his, and Stiles feels great.

 

~

 

Stiles feels like shit.  
It’s probably well past noon, and he just woke up with his cheek pressed against the hard floor of his bedroom. He has no idea how he got there, his head is buzzing painfully and last night is blur of glitter and tequila. Stiles stares at the fluffs of dust under his bed and regrets every single decision he made in the last 24 hours.

A few moments later, the door opens, prompting Stiles to leave his sorry state of contemplation and regret. He rolls over onto his back (groaning, because it makes him feel queasy) and watches Derek walk stiffly into the room. With him, a bit of last night’s proceedings come back to Stiles, and he gets hot all over. He kissed Derek. Derek kissed him back. Holy crap.  
Contrary to Stiles, Derek doesn’t seem to feel like shit, because he looks as awake and fit as ever.

“You don’t get hangovers, do you?” Stiles comments awkwardly and tries to get up. “Of course you don’t.”

Derek says nothing. He looms over Stiles in that typical manner of his and doesn’t offer him a hand up. 

“How did we get home?” Stiles wonders out loud, once he managed to stand up straight without puking all over the floor. “Where have you even been, it’s not even,” Stiles checks his watch, “okay, wow, it’s three p.m. I missed half of Saturday, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I was going to get breakfast but then I went on a run instead,” Derek says stoically.

“Okayyy…”

Stiles ignores Derek’s weird mood in favor of flopping down onto his bed. Now that he already slept through half the day, he can just as well continue with the rest of it and nurse his hangover. With the way his head is pounding, productivity is not an option anyways. He’s just going to spend a few hours trying to recall the exact feeling of Derek’s lips on his.

“Who did it? Which of them?”

Stiles frowns. “Who did what?”

“You know full well what I’m talking about,” Derek snarls, and woah, when did he get so angry. Stiles feels like he missed something, there.

“I clearly don’t,” he says, trying to stifle a yawn.

Derek scowls deeply and points at their door, which he left standing open.

Stiles sighs, “Reverting to sign language, now, are we? Great. Listen, man, can’t you just tell me what’s wrong? I really don’t feel like getting up right now.”

Derek adds a low growl to his scowling.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you? Mate, quit growling, you’re not a dog- Okay, okay, I’m going. Jeez,” Stiles mutters, heaving himself back up and slouching towards the exit, “But don’t you dare lock me out.”

Derek follows him out into the hallway in a perfect impression of a watchdog. Looking up and down the corridor, it’s not hard to figure out what Derek’s freaking out about. Apparently, someone’s taken a leaf out of their book by copying their photo prank from a while ago, because every few yards, there’s pink flyer pinned to the wall. Each has a picture printed on it, quite clearly showing Derek and Stiles kissing at last night’s party.

“Oh my god,” Stiles laughs, trying to hide his delight over this physical proof of them kissing. “I didn’t think anyone would be able to get a good picture with the dim light, but these turned out great, gotta give it to them.”

“Of course you’d laugh,” Derek says behind him, but he’s not growling anymore. Now he just sounds _sad_ , and Stiles whips around in alarm.

“You know,” Derek continues, voice hardening, “I really thought we were over this. I thought we could be something… friend-like. But then of course you had to go and publically shame me and now here we are. Stupid me, huh?”

“Derek, you’re not making any sense,” Stiles says carefully, lifting his arms in a calming manner. “It was just some glitter, people will forget about it in no time. You’re over-reacting.”

Derek visibly bristles. “I’m so sick of you,” he bits out, and Stiles flinches back. 

He could very well be hurt now and go sulk, but he’s the son of a sheriff and there’s no way he’ll just take it when Derek’s being so irrational. Looks like their kiss was a disaster, but that really is no reason to freak out so badly.

“Look,” he says sharply, “No idea what’s gotten into you, but no one’s forcing you to spend more time with me than necessary. I’ll be glad to be out of your hair until you’ve come to your senses. Let me know when you’re back to normal.”

With his nose in the air, Stiles marches past Derek into their room, grabs his phone and laptop, marches back out and heads for Scott’s, so he can sulk there in peace.

He feels Derek’s eyes on his back all the way to the corner.

 

+++

 

By Wednesday, Stiles is going crazy.

Lunch that day lacks both Scott and Isaac, presumably because they’re once again fighting over videogames or something, and Derek, because he avoids Stiles like the plague.  
Lydia’s only physically present, fully occupied with a weird mathematical theorem that she’s apparently learned by heart. Boyd and Erica are busy with feeding each other food off their plates, which does nothing to make Stiles feel any better, thanks very much.

Five minutes in, he’s meticulously ripping his bread roll into shreds. “I don’t even know what made him so angry! He hasn’t said a word to me in four fucking days, he’s not even looking at me anymore! I don’t see how the glitter thing was worse than anything I did before that. And I know he was drunk, but it’s not like he seemed all too upset when he… when we…”

Erica takes pity on him. “Honey, have you tried asking him?” she prompts, as though it’s the obvious course of action.

“ _He’s not talking to me_ ,” Stiles repeats emphatically, growing more frustrated by the second.

“You’re not talking to each other,” Lydia corrects out of the blue, “There’s a difference, you know.”

“You’re not helping.”

Lydia gives him a sour look. “Your constant sulking will get you nowhere. If it wasn’t the prank, I suggest you try to think of whatever else it was that you screwed up lately.”

“But I didn’t,” Stiles whines, “Maybe he just made up his mind after we... after the…”

“The kissing?” Erica offers gently.

“Yeah. That. Maybe it was terrible. Maybe he realized that he does still hate me. Or he just got sick of me, like he said he did.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lydia says impatiently, “Derek likes you just fine, anyone with eyes can see that. This is just a misunderstanding, I’m sure of it.”

Erica nods fervently and nudges Boyd with her elbow.

“I’ve known Derek for some time,” Boyd says deeply, “And I can tell you one thing for sure: Any other person drench him in water and glitter with a bunch of people watching, they don’t make it out of that backyard alive.”

As Lydia goes back to her math, Erica leans in conspiratorially. “And I’m sure they wouldn’t get snogged senseless, either.”

He’d like to tell them he needs new friends, because they’re all useless, but he feels too lonely and pathetic to pull it off convincingly. Instead, he leans his head against Lydia’s shoulder and lets her quietly murmured formulas take him through the rest of lunch.

 

~

 

They make it to Saturday by sheer luck. Stiles is a hundred percent sure Derek has thought about strangling in him in his sleep more than once, just as Stiles has had to forcibly stop himself from throwing Derek’s stupidly smart books out the window or drenching all his clothes in itching powder. Their communication is limited to angry eyebrows and looks that could kill and basically no words at all. It’s very exhausting, because Stiles is a very talkative person by nature, and he still doesn’t really understand why Derek is so very mad at him (not that he cares. Nope, not one bit). 

Through the week, there is only a small amount of time that Stiles really has to spend in their room, and therefore in Derek’s immediate and stressful company. They have different courses, Derek avoided lunch (and breakfast and dinner) in the dining hall all week, and Stiles can always camp out in his friends’ rooms. The only truly unavoidable thing is sleep.  
But know it’s the weekend, and Stiles has to put some serious effort into not being in the same room as Derek. It’s pouring like hell outside, so that’s not an option, and both Erica and Isaac seem to get a little sick of his constant company ( _he needs new friends_ ). That’s why, after an early breakfast, Stiles went straight to the library in order to find some books and in the hopes that Derek would be gone (read: at the gym) by the time he gets back.  
But Derek, apparently following a similar motivation, must have changed his habits – quite obviously so, because as luck would have it, Stiles runs into his sweaty form at the main entrance to their dormitory. 

“You’re not supposed to be back yet,” he says, blankly, before he can stop himself.

Derek closes his boringly black umbrella and pushes past him with an expression that matches the stormy weather. But apparently even their current ice-age-like situation doesn’t stop Derek from sticking to his manners (Stiles’ admiration for Mrs. Hale just keeps on growing) because he holds the door open.

Stiles is so nonplussed he walks forwards with his own stripy umbrella still held above his head, which consequently gets stuck. The following struggle is awkward and embarrassing, and Stiles is probably very red in the face by the time he makes it inside.

Derek is shaking his head at him. “I can’t believe a person can be so klutzy.”

“Oh, look, it talks,” Stiles deadpans, shaking his now-closed umbrella and sending drops of water everywhere.

“Watch it, will you!” Derek snarls, barely avoiding the spray.

“Don’t be such a wuss.”

“Don’t call me that, you punk.”

“Who’s gonna stop me?”

 

Bickering, with the admittedly childish name-calling getting increasingly creative, the two of them make their way up two flights of stairs and past numerous doors.  
Finally, Stiles kicks their own door open with a little more force than strictly necessary, and Derek stomps in after him and then they both freeze. 

No less than five people are sitting on the floor between their beds, leaning against wardrobes and bed frames. Lydia, Erica, Scott, Isaac and Boyd all break off their idle chatter mid-sentence to turn and look at the new arrivals.

“You took you time,” Lydia grumbles, and stands up gracefully. 

The rest of them follow her lead (though with a little less grace, at least in Scott’s case, who promptly trips over Isaac’s outstretched legs while trying to get up) and form a more or less impressive wall of annoyed faces and folded arms in the middle of the small room. Derek, taken by surprise, curses under his breath, while Stiles takes it all in: Lydia’s raised eyebrow, Scott’s disappointed puppy-eyes, Erica demonstratively inspecting her fingernails, the worried crease on Boyd’s forehead, Isaac rolling his eyes. He knows by intuition why they’re here, and judging by the exasperated huff behind him, Derek knows too.

“Please tell me that you’re here to fetch us for lunch,” Stiles sighs, but the girls shut him up with a look. It’s a pity, because lunch would be great, especially in comparison to what is sure to come now.

“This is an intervention,” Scott says seriously and Isaac rolls his eyes some more.

“I don’t see a banner,” Stiles nags defensively, mimicking his opponents by crossing his arms over his chest. Lydia and Erica can stare him down all they want, he’s not going to make this any easier for them. By the look of Derek’s angry eyebrows, he won’t, either.

“How did you get in here?” he snaps, directing the eyebrows at Isaac, who’s flopped onto Derek’s bed in a way that suggests he’s not here by choice. If Stiles cared to help Derek out, he’d tell Isaac to get the hell up, because Derek takes deep offence in other people sitting on his precious bedding. 

“Stiles has a natural aversion to locking the door after himself,” Erica says sweetly.

Derek growls. “Believe me, I know. Now get out of my room, all of you.”

“Man,” Boyd speaks up, looking at Derek as though he knows something the rest of them don’t. “They’re good people. Listen to them. We just wanna help, alright?”

Derek curses under his breath. He leans against his wardrobe and directs his gaze to the ground. “Fine, let’s get this over with then. I’m starving.” 

Me, too, Stiles wants to say, but he refrains and takes a seat on his bed. 

Lydia steps forward. “Alright, here’s what we know. You got drunk, you kissed, you had a fight, you stopped talking. You’re both miserable, incredibly stubborn, and usually we – at least the most of us – wouldn’t interfere with your business, but…”

“It’s driving us _crazy_ ,” Erica finishes, wringing her hands in despair.

“More so than when you were still convinced you hated each other,” Isaac clarifies, “At least you talked to each other.”

“Look, I don’t know what you hope to achieve with this,” Derek snaps angrily, “We kissed once while we were both hammered, that doesn’t mean we’ll suddenly start liking each other-”

“You started to like each other weeks ago, Derek,” Boyd says in his deep voice, “Don’t kid yourself.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Derek growls. “I was drunk, so was he, and that kiss meant nothing. I will not discuss this any longer with any of you.”

Stiles looks at his knees as Derek’s harsh words wash over him and pretends he doesn’t care.

“But it did mean something,” Lydia says urgently, “No, listen – Derek Hale, listen to me right now! You had a blackout, you were too drunk to remember, but it wasn’t just one kiss and it wasn’t meaningless!”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles inquires sharply, while Derek just heaves an exasperated sigh and sinks down onto his own bed.

Scott clears his throat. “Do you remember what happened after you kissed in Danny’s backyard?”

“The last thing I remember is Erica bringing us shots and toasting to herself for being right,” Stiles answers grudgingly.

“Stiles tripped on the steps up the porch,” Derek contributes quietly, still stubbornly looking at the floor.

“That’s right,” Lydia says, “And then you ended up on the porch swing, remember that? Because Danny didn’t want you to get glitter and water all over the floor-”

“And you stayed on that thing for hours,” Erica throws in.

“And Erica and Isaac kept bringing you booze,” Lydia continues and glares at the two of them for a second, “because they had a bet going on about when you’d start making out for real.”

“But you didn’t,” Scott says significantly, “You were only kissing and cuddling.”

“And sweet-talking,” Erica singsongs.

“Isaac nearly puked.”

“It was disgusting to watch,” Isaac affirms, pulling a face.

While Erica consolingly pats Isaac’s head, the fog in Stiles’ head clears a little. Bits of memory about that night start coming back to him, like sparks igniting in his head one after one – the feeling of Derek’s arm around his shoulder, the soothing motion of the porch swing beneath him, quiet whispers between them… ah, shit.

“So what?” Stiles hisses, fully aware that his face is tomato-red and looking anywhere but at Derek.

“So, I was wrong,” Erica shrugs, “You did in fact not want to get into Derek’s pants. At least not exclusively.”

“What we’re trying to say,” Lydia says, gentler than expected, “is that you discovered something truly great that night, and you shouldn’t throw it away over a stupid misunderstanding.”

“Which is why you’re going to make up and go back to being disgustingly in love,” Erica orders, “We’re not accepting anything less than that.”

Scott frowns. “Erica means that we want you to be happy and we really think you could make each other, um, happy, if you’d let yourself have it, you know?”

“No, what she means is, quit being so damn miserable and fucking talk it out,” Isaac sums it up for them.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Lydia says in a voice that leaves no room for discussions, and the five of them troop out of the room in a row. Stiles watches them go, nonplussed, because he did not expect them to finish up so quickly.

 

Erica is bringing up the rear, high-ponytail bobbing after her, but before Stiles and Derek can follow her outside (lunch is still very much an option), she turns, grins broadly, and slams the door in their faces.

“What-?”

Derek jumps up and reaches out an urgent hand, but before he can get a grip on the door handle, there is the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Probably the key that should be on this side of the door lock, but right now, lacks conspicuously.

“Um - guys? Did you just lock us in?” Stiles says, knocking stupidly on his own door while Derek abuses the poor handle. The door does not budge. “What’s going on?”

“What do you think, Stiles?” Lydia asks sarcastically from outside.

“We’re officially partaking in your crazy prank war,” Isaac’s voice drawls through the door, sounding like he was assigned that line and couldn’t care less about any of it.

There’s the muffled sound of someone (probably Isaac) getting hit in the stomach by someone else (definitely Erica) and then Scott calls, “We’re not unlocking the door until you’ve talked it out. That’s it, that’s our prank. It’s a classic.”

“So _talk_ , before I have to come in there and physically make you,” Erica adds, deadpan.

Derek refocuses his death-glare from the closed door to Stiles, as though this is somehow to be blamed on him. But it’s not like he’s got the _literal_ key to solving this problem.

“Guys, I’m very proud of you, great job,” Stiles calls out and is not sure whether he’s being sarcastic or not, “but have you thought about what happens if one of us needs the loo?”

“Nice try, Stiles,” Scott’s dry voice floats through the door, “I’ve lived with you. If you really plan to be _that_ stubborn, I know of at least half a dozen empty water bottles under your bed to help you out.”

“Probably more than that,” Derek bickers under his breath, but it’s audible enough.

“Okay, are you serious?” Stiles despairs agitatedly, “This is what you choose to comment on right now? In case it’s escaped your notice, our friends have just locked us in! How about you quit just sitting there and try to do something about it?!”

“That’s our cue, have fun, guys,” Erica shouts from outside and then all their voices are gone.

“Our friends?” Derek repeats with a humorless chuckle.

Stiles expected something a little more reactionary, to be honest, and is a little taken aback. 

“What do you mean?”

“They’re your friends, Stiles. Not mine. I might not know a lot about having friends, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to do that to each other. I get it, though, you tolerated me because of Boyd, you didn’t have to suffer alone anymore and I was naïve enough to think I actually fit in somewhere for a change. That one’s on me.”

Stiles shakes his head wildly. “What are you even talking about?! Are you saying we’re fake friends, or what?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Derek confirms flatly, looking right back at Stiles with no discernible emotion in his eyes.

“Well, then you’re a lot less clever than I thought you were,” Stiles snaps, offended on his friends’ behalf. “Because none of that is true. I don’t know if you noticed, but these guys? They’re pretty eccentric. And they don’t take shit, and they don’t regularly hang out with people whom they don’t like! Goddamnit, Derek, open your eyes! Scott is joining you at the gym every weekend! Lydia told me herself that she likes how smart you are! Erica basically adopted you! Even Isaac said he likes you, and Isaac doesn’t like anyone!”

“Oh yeah?” Derek challenges, and now he’s starting to get louder, too. “If they like me so much, why would they do this to me, huh?”

“ _Do this to you _?” Stiles repeats incredulously, “Are you serious? It was just a prank, for heaven’s sake! We’ve been pranking each other for weeks! Isaac and Scott just helped me out, but it was still my prank. You had all of them help you with the cling film, too! And it’s not like before that, me and the guys haven’t been fooling with each other at any given moment. Don’t you remember Erica putting waterproof lipstick all over my face? Do you know that that fucking wardrobe, which is the reason _we_ are even sharing this stupid room, got set on fire because I was screwing with Scott and it went out of control?”__

Derek brushes all of that off with a growl. “It was still a fucked up thing to do!"

“Oh my god, I really don’t get why you’re so worked up about it! You just got wet, it’s not like I shaved your hair off or something!”

“I don’t care about _that_!” Derek barks, “That was just some stupid glitter, I didn’t even _get_ that prank! But twenty people already saw us kissing in that backyard, which is bad enough, and I want to know why you thought it was necessary for the rest of the world to know as well!”

“Wait – so the pictures are your problem? _Really_? Well, newsflash, that wasn’t me!”

“What?”

“None of us did that, you walnut. It was Lydia’s douchebag of a boyfriend. Jackson? He hates me. Which is cool, because I hate him, too. Lydia told me right after she found out. Apparently he thought I would be really embarrassed by those pictures… gloated about it on Monday… I didn’t care, but it’s good to know _you’re_ so ashamed of kissing me.”

“I’m not!” Derek shouts, pulling at his hair, “But that doesn’t mean I want fucking everyone to know about it! We can’t all be out and proud, Stiles!”

Stiles stills. “Woah, hold on… so you’re gay?”

Derek deflates and shrugs awkwardly, cheeks coloring. “I don’t know. I just… I just really want to kiss you all the time.”

The air in the rom changes quite abruptly. All the tension suddenly has quite a different cause. Also, someone will have to wipe Stiles up of the floor, because he basically just melted into a puddle.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Well, I am very down with that.”

Derek blinks. And blushes. It’s adorable, really. “You are?”

“Hell yes,” Stiles exclaims, “Have you seen yourself? You’re, like, ridiculously hot. And really smart, too, and nice, and _lovely_ , and why am I still talking?”

Stiles marches over to where Derek is standing next to his bed, looking baffled, and flings both his arms around the other man’s neck.

“Hi,” he says soppily and kisses Derek full on the mouth.

They don’t stop for a very long time.

~

The voices in front of their door return a few hours later. 

(By now, Derek is asleep with his nose twitching adorably every now and then. Stiles, about to contently drift of himself, is cuddled up to Derek with his head on the other man’s chest. It’s awfully comfortable.)

“Do you think they’re done yet?”

“They must be. You can’t do… _it_ for that long, can you?”

“You’re adorable Scotty. But still, impressive stamina. Go Stiles.”

“Shut up, Erica, I’m gonna open the door.”

“Oh god, look at them. This is sickeningly adorable.”

“They’re going to be impossible to stand. I don’t know what we expected.”

“Guys, I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to see this. _Close the door_!”

Stiles grins into Derek’s chest and ignores them. 

~

In retrospect, setting that wardrobe on fire might not have been such a bad idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I know nothing about American university, or dorms, or prank wars, or Skype calls.  
> This is also tragically unbeta’ed, as you’ve probably noticed, so feel free to tell me about all the stupid mistakes I undoubtedly made.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave comments/kudos, so I know not-studying was worth it :)


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